


Falconry: Free Flight

by BetaCobra



Series: Falconry [3]
Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Character, Bromance to Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, M/M, Pining, Reconciliation, Rivalry, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexist Language, Suggestive Themes, Toxic Masculinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23507593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetaCobra/pseuds/BetaCobra
Summary: A series of 500-word short stories centered around Miguel/Hawk. Part of the Falconry-verse.
Relationships: Miguel Diaz/Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz
Series: Falconry [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691446
Comments: 64
Kudos: 109





	1. Bow Net

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bow Net: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A trap that, when set, looks like a circle laying on the ground. When the bird comes in to investigate the bait, the trap is sprung causing the circle to release over the bird creating a semi-circle and a bag of net over the now trapped bird.

“Leave him alone, Kyler.”

Those firm words had been all it took to get Kyler to take his hands off him. It drew the jock’s attention toward Miguel, allowing Eli to slink back and shrink into his shoulders. 

Miguel, meanwhile, had a look of defiance on his face.

The confrontation didn’t go as well as Miguel had probably intended when he spoke up. But all three of them managed to escape from the library none the worse, except for Demetri’s soiled backpack.

Eli didn't know what to think. Nobody had ever stood up for him like that. He would’ve liked to explain to Miguel what that meant to him, but all he could mutter after the fact was a measly, “Thanks.”

“No prob,” said Miguel with a shrug, giving him a pat on the back. Eli knew his inability to be articulate with his words meant his feelings had not come across like he’d hoped. Miguel didn’t understand. He wished Miguel could read his mind instead, that would be easier. Words were difficult.

Eli started to notice things after that day. Little things. Like how cheesy Miguel’s smile could be, and how much he liked that smile.

But it was more than physical appeal. Miguel was brave, to the point of being “stupid brave,” as Demetri would’ve phrased it. Demetri had criticized Miguel for standing up to Kyler at the Halloween dance, but Eli could imagine nothing cooler.

Nobody stood up to Kyler. Now Miguel had done it twice. How was that not cool?

And when the school days continued to pass, Eli caught himself thinking more about his friend, looking at him at their lunch table like he’d never truly seen him before. 

He had to admit to himself: he liked Miguel. _Really_ liked him. A lot.

He wondered if he should say something, to test the waters and see how Miguel would react. But the thought of it frayed his nerves raw, so bad it made him feel like he was going to throw up.

As though he had caught Demetri’s defeatism secondhand, Eli thought of all the ways that scenario could go wrong. What if Miguel hated him after he told him? Worse, what if he laughed at him?

Eli couldn't risk embarrassing himself, not on some crush. If he didn’t have the balls to go up and talk to a girl, what in the world had given him the impression he could approach his friend about something like this? After all, he had no reason to believe Miguel was interested in guys, too, much less someone mousey and pathetic like him. Eli knew he was no catch, even if Miguel did swing that way.

When Miguel set his eyes on Sam LaRusso, Eli figured it didn’t matter at all anymore. And once his friend won her over by standing up to Kyler a third time, Eli decided it would be best to forget about everything and let his little crush go. 

Better for them both really.


	2. Fret Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fret Mark: noun  
> Falconry.   
> 1\. A clearly-visible weak spot on a raptor's feather, usually from an extended period of hunger, follicle damage, or anxiety and stress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left kudos/comments last chapter!

Miguel’s head felt light from the moment he stepped into his apartment. He gave a brief nod at his Ya-Ya from where she was making tea in the kitchen, but otherwise his limbs acted on muscle memory all the way to his bedroom. And when he closed the door behind him, the weight of everything that had just gone down in the parking lot hit him hard.

They were really doing this.

Raising his fingertips to his lips, Miguel remembered how stifling it had been in the car when he pulled Hawk back into that feverous kiss. The experience had left him breathless.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, raising his hand from his mouth to run through his hair once. His cheeks were still warm, and it felt like his heart was pounding in his throat. When was the last time that happened, he wondered? After his date at Golf n’ Stuff?

Miguel walked over to his desk and retrieved his laptop, fingers flying to unlock the screen. His unfinished project greeted him: that image of him and Sam, their broken heart mended by the octopus. 

They looked so happy.

His rapid heartbeat slowed at that memory, and Miguel sunk on his bed. 

Why should he feel guilty about this? He shouldn’t. He’d tried over and over to get Sam to talk about what happened, and she’d blocked him every step of the way. Why shouldn’t he give this a shot?

He closed his eyes and remembered again; how his fingers tingled while flying out to stop Hawk from retreating.

His phone vibrated from his pocket. Pulling it out, Miguel read the text from Hawk: _so how are we gonna do this?_

Good question. Where did they go from here? 

Miguel texted back: _let’s just go with the flow, see where we end up._

What _was_ the next step? Coming out? Tell his mom and grandma? His friends?

His Sensei?

Miguel didn’t like the thought of keeping this a secret. Not after everything that had happened with Sam. Carrying that around would wreck him. Hawk probably wouldn’t appreciate it, either.

Would Hawk’s parents be cool with it? 

Miguel groaned, trying to rub from the stress from the nape of his neck. His stomach was heavy again. It was like someone had dumped a dozen cement blocks in front of him and told him to chop through them all in one hit. Could he do it? 

He shot another text: _hey so are your parents gonna care that I’m…y’know???_

Hawk replied: _what? catholic? nah as long as we raise the kids jewish my parents won’t care._

A breathy laugh escaped Miguel, curling his mouth into a smile. He appreciated the attempt at levity, even if it didn’t do much to relax the pull in his stomach.

He was Cobra Kai, he reminded himself. No holding back. Strike hard.

Looking at the computer in his lap, Miguel glanced wistfully at his project one last time, then sighed and shut the lid.


	3. Bewit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bewit: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A thin piece of leather for attaching bells to a raptor's leg.

The plan at the mall was simple: hit two or three stores they knew would have what they were looking for. No need to waste hours browsing. Nike alone had some great discounts. Miguel already found two red shirts for a steal.

Eyeing the racks for anything in Cobra Kai colors that looked cool, Hawk said, “After this, let’s get a couple protein smoothies at Jamba.”

“You paying?” Miguel half-joked, checking out a pair of yellow basketball shorts. Deciding in favor of it, he put one of the shirts back.

“Heh, this time,” Hawk replied, watching Miguel as he inspected the price tag of another item. Keeping the tone light, he added, “Can’t cut out your protein, man. That’s how we’re gonna get swol.”

Shaking his head with a grin, Miguel caught sight of a mall security guard walking around the store. He tried to ignore him.

Hawk’s face lit up when he pulled a black-and-white hoodie from the rack. He liked the style of this one. “Sweet, eighty percent off.”

“They got another one in medium?” asked Miguel.

A quick check and Hawk shook his head. “This must be the last one.” Seeing the disappointment in the way Miguel’s eyes fell, Hawk rolled his shoulder. “You take it. I already got one like it anyway.”

“You sure?” 

Hawk practically shoved the hanger in his hands. “Don’t make it weird.”

Miguel smiled fondly, accepting it. “Thanks.”

While he and Hawk walked the store and continued shopping, Miguel noticed the security guard hovering around them again. 

“Not to sound paranoid or anything, but I think that mall cop over there is watching me,” he pointed out, discreetly jutting his chin in the direction of the guard. He felt his cheeks burn, and his eyebrows pinched in irritation, wondering if that guy actually thought he was going to steal something.

Hawk glanced over his shoulder. His face became guarded and his mouth tightened into a frown. “He’s not looking at you,” he reassured Miguel, turning back around and flipping through the racks heatedly. 

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s looking at _me_ ,” emphasized Hawk with an irate huff. “It’s one of those stupid rent-a-cops, he’s had it out for me since, y’know, the fight. It’s like, you get a mall record and I guess they start following you around.”

At the mention of the mall fight, Miguel rubbed the back of his neck. He wondered if Hawk and Demetri had talked at all since then. But rather than step in it and ask, he pointed out, “Guess it must be pretty hard for you to blend into a crowd, huh?”

“I guess. But whatever,” dismissed Hawk with a shrug. “It’s kinda like Sensei’s rap sheet, right? You gotta work your way up to being that badass.”

Miguel didn’t think that was the lesson they should take from Sensei’s criminal record, but he let the matter drop, saying instead, “Well, I’m ready to check out if you are. Still paying for that Jamba?”


	4. Weathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weathering: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To keep a raptor outside, exposed to the elements, in order to ensure it gets sunlight, to socialize it with other birds, or to get it used to a new location.

“So you were actually gonna bring Sam up here for some sort of schmaltzy picnic? Like, chocolates and everything, all that shit, right here?”

Miguel cringed, not knowing whether to feel ashamed for his romantic streak. “Yeah.” He still didn’t think it had been _that_ bad an idea. And Hawk hadn’t protested going on the jog with him that morning up to the observatory. He’d even admitted the view was nice when they sat down for a rest. 

It was only when Miguel confessed what his original date plan had been with Sam that he started the ribbing.

Arching an eyebrow, Hawk said, “Sounds like Sensei really saved you from yourself there.”

“I know, star-gazing isn’t near as romantic as a trip to the tattoo parlor, amirite?” teased Miguel. When Hawk glanced down to mask the way he pressed his mouth in a thin line in a moment of self-consciousness, Miguel elbowed him. “Just sayin’, man, don’t be dishing it if you can’t take it.”

“Alright, alright,” conceded Hawk, picking at his shirt collar for a second. A sharp smile returned to his face as he then asked, “So, what sort of moves would you have put on her?”

Stretching his legs out lazily, Miguel inquired, “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, if you went through with your original idea,” said Hawk, leaning back on his hands, too. “How did you plan on scoring a kiss with her?”

Miguel licked his bottom lip, thinking of a way to admit how he’d planned for that night to go, what he would’ve said in the hopes of landing that coveted kiss. All those corny and sentimental things. But he couldn’t find it in himself to confess it. Sensei already gave him crap for it, and Hawk would never let him hear the end of it. Why’d he even bring his ex-girlfriend up in the first place?

“I dunno. Something.”

Hawk’s crooked grin widened. “C’mon, what are you, a nerd or an alpha?”

Rolling his eyes, Miguel pointed out, “Do I have to remind you, I _did_ kiss her on our first date.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking about what moves you would’ve made _here_ ,” countered Hawk. Scooting closer, he asked, “You _would’ve_ made the first move, right?”

Hawk was firmly in his space now, and Miguel wondered whether he'd actually been talking about Sam at all. “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, conscious of how he could hear Hawk’s breath quickening beside him. 

“Yeah?”

Building his resolve, Miguel said with more confidence, “Want me to prove it?”

“Yeah.”

So Miguel did. Letting his eyes close, he leaned in and kissed Hawk’s mouth. He felt Hawk’s warm hand come up to cradle his jaw, inviting him eagerly to continue. Miguel kept going, drawing out the kiss until their lips idly parted, and his nerves, those pleasant nerves inside him, felt giddy.

“See?” quipped Hawk with a raise of his eyebrows. “You didn’t even need the chocolates.”

Miguel gave his shoulder a little shove. “Don’t ruin the moment.”


	5. Hunger Trace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunger Trace: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A weak spot in a feather usually due to starvation when the bird was a chick.

Hawk sat uneasily on his bed, cheeks warm over how his father had just embarrassed him. Why’d he have to insist they keep the door open? Why couldn’t his parents let him have any privacy?

Miguel appeared to be a good sport about it, though. He got up and walked back over to Hawk’s bookshelf to inspect its contents closer, eyes running over the titles. Picking one at random to flip through, he glanced over his shoulder and asked, “Hey, where do you keep your comic books? I bet you got a pretty good collection, huh?”

His face burning up now, Hawk felt a knot pull at his stomach. Did Miguel still think of him as a nerd? After all this time? “I don’t read comics,” he stated with a frown, trying hard to forget how there were boxes full of graphic novels tucked under his bed as he said that.

“But you used to.”

“I got rid of all that geeky shit,” replied Hawk, the edge to his voice tightening.

Putting the book back, Miguel pinched his eyebrows together. “Why?”

Hawk’s gut dropped more. He didn’t want to talk about any of that, he didn’t want to open up that can of worms. So he forced an uneasy smirk on his mouth and said, “Because I’m not a little nerd.”

He thought if anyone knew _why_ it would be Miguel. He was in Cobra Kai with him, he heard all the same lessons Sensei Lawrence taught that Hawk did; more even. You didn’t get to be both a nerd and a badass; at least that was one lesson Hawk understood perfectly, even if he didn't get the shades of grey talk.

Besides, what was that nerd shit other than a reminder of why he’d been such a loser in the first place? Did Miguel want to remember how pathetic he used to be? When he looked at Hawk, did he still see that sissy in the dorky clothes who tripped over his tongue all the damn time?

The photos throughout the house must have reminded Miguel of that. Hawk wished his parents would let him pack those images in the boxes under his bed with all the other stuff. He hated being reminded every day what he once was, seeing those pictures, hearing his mom and dad call him by his name.

Miguel gave him a look. “But-”

“It’s really not that complicated,” interrupted Hawk, going over to stand next to Miguel. “But let’s talk about something else.” He let his grin widen and reached out a hand to slide up Miguel’s side. 

His smile was contagious, and Miguel gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in closer. “Or maybe a little less talking?”

Hawk liked that suggestion much more. 

Glancing once at the open doorway to make sure his parents weren’t hovering outside, he leaned in, hoping to ensure Miguel only saw him as cool, confident Hawk with the way he kissed him; not timid, dweeby Eli.


	6. Bating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bating: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The action of the bird attempting to fly from a perch or the fist while attached by a leash. The bird may be startled and wanting to leave, may have seen something attractive and curious to fly to it, or may be impatient to be flying or hunting.

Miguel had a couple extra dollars in his wallet, so he treated them to Wendy’s Frosties after practice, hoping it might perk Hawk up. Sensei Lawrence had chosen him to make an example of in his lesson on the importance of defense, and Hawk was taking it personally.

“And what was that shit about not wasting venom on every strike?” asked Hawk, setting aside his empty cup. “One day he talks about how cobras should take down lions, now he’s saying to hold back. He needs to make up his mind, are we supposed to be pussies or badasses?”

Swallowing his bite of chocolate ice-cream, Miguel explained, “He just meant that when an attack isn’t working, you should change your strategy.”

Hawk’s forehead creased in confusion. “But Sensei’s always said the best strategy is self-offense. Why the sudden change?”

“It’s not really a sudden change,” argued Miguel. Eating another mouthful of his Frosty, trying to come up with another way of explaining it, he watched Hawk tap his fingers on the table. He wondered if he was making it worse. Maybe the best way to help was to drop it for a while. 

Things got quiet for a few minutes. Then Hawk looked down at his fidgeting fingers, and his shoulders slumped. “Do you ever, like, I dunno, miss Sensei Kreese any?”

Miguel couldn’t say the question caught him off-guard, but he didn’t know how to respond to it. Should he lie and say yes? That wouldn’t be cool, would it? “How you mean?” he asked instead, spooning more dessert.

“Y’know, like how he ran things that week Sensei Lawrence was gone,” answered Hawk. His eyes flitted up to meet Miguel’s for a moment before resting again on the table.

That bite of the Frosty tasted sour in Miguel’s mouth. To tell the truth, he didn’t miss that time at all. He’d been thrilled when Sensei Lawrence had returned from bereavement. But Hawk probably didn’t want to hear that. “Do you? Miss him, I mean.”

Hawk started picking at the table with his fingernail. “A little,” he confessed.

Miguel didn’t understand why. Sure, Sensei Kreese was Sensei’s Sensei, but he was also a hardass, in a way even Sensei Lawrence wasn’t.

Thinking back to his conversations with Sensei Lawrence, Miguel remembered how he’d called Sensei Kreese a sick man, and how he’d made a mistake leaving them alone with him. But Miguel didn’t want to infringe on Sensei’s privacy by repeating that, nor did he want to risk sparking a heated debate with Hawk. 

So all he said was, “I’m sure Sensei had a good reason for kicking him out. We just have to trust him.”

Avoiding Miguel’s eyes, Hawk continued scraping his fingernail against the table, like he was picking at a scab. His brows furrowed together hard. “Maybe.”

Wanting to change the topic, Miguel reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “You want any fries?”

Hawk slouched in his chair and rolled his shoulder. “I’m pretty full.”


	7. Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The maximum height a raptor reaches before stooping.

Miguel lied curled beside him on the couch, resting his head on Hawk’s shoulder. Hawk almost would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep if not for the fact that Miguel was absently running a finger around his shirt collar. 

This felt different from the other times they made out, even that time in the back of his car. This was disarming, lying right up next to each other, feeling each other’s weight and the warmth from such close proximity. It made Hawk dizzy.

A needling voice whispered in his mind’s ear. _You’re going to fuck this up_ , it warned him. _You’re going to fuck it up, just like you did with Moon._

Hawk brought up a hand and curled his fingers in Miguel’s hair.

Why couldn’t moments like this last longer? Forever even? Why did they have to pass by so fast? Why did they have to fly away, leaving him the chance to ruin things in the aftermath? Because what was he supposed to do next? Say something charming or witty? What would an alpha do?

Be confident, above all else.

But he was afraid. And his fear shamed him because it wasn’t supposed to exist.

His Cobra Kai confidence tried beating down those insecurities, but as unguarded as he was, Eli overcame Hawk. And all Eli could think about was how he was never going to be good enough. How could he be? He might practice over and over being cool and bold, but deep down he was as graceless and weird as ever.

Eli would always be a loser. But Miguel….

Did Miguel even know how much he deserved? He deserved better than Sam treating him like shit. He deserved becoming the champion of the All-Valley Tournament. He deserved being the best of them at Cobra Kai.

Miguel deserved to be with a winner. And what had Hawk ever won?

He wanted to win, though. He wanted to be a winner so badly.

And he _would_ win. Eli might’ve been a loser, but not Hawk. No, he was a hardcore badass, and he _wasn’t_ going to fuck this up.

Hawk started to shift and squirm, getting uncomfortable; uncomfortable with both his thoughts and with how he’d been lying in that same position for so long. Part of him was loath to move, but the realization that he risked messing up his mohawk from the way he laid on the couch made him sit up. The arm still snaked around his waist pulled in protest, but his insecurities won the fight again.

Miguel opened his eyes and lifted his head, a lazy grin on his face. Hawk’s lips parted as if he was going to say something important to him, but nothing came out. His breath was warm against Miguel’s mouth, and he made a soft noise when Miguel pressed their lips together.

Hawk had told him multiple times he wasn’t soft. But when he got like this, Miguel didn’t see what was so bad about admitting he could be.


	8. Boose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boose: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. Excessive drinking by a hawk.

Miguel hated waking up in the middle of the night by the pressing need to go to the bathroom. He’d been having such a great dream, too, one his subconscious warped into a nightmare to jolt him from his sleep, so he’d wake up and empty his bladder.

After taking care of his business, he made his way out of his bedroom in the dark towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his groggy eyes. As sensitive as they were then, he squinted at the light of a cellphone coming from the living room. His guest must’ve been up, too.

“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Miguel quietly. Grabbing a glass, he poured himself some juice from the refrigerator. 

“No,” he heard Hawk mutter from the couch.

It must’ve been hard sleeping at someone else’s house. Miguel had those issues whenever he did. Maybe some holdover from when his mom moved them around a lot when he was younger.

“Sorry again there’s no extra bed,” he said, walking with his drink to sit on one of the armrests. “But no way were Mom and Ya-Ya gonna let you camp in a sleeping bag on my floor. They trust us, but not _that_ much. Besides, that floor’s really uncomfortable anyway. I’ve done enough sit-ups on it to know.”

Hawk’s phone illuminated his small smile. “Couldn’t be more uncomfortable than an air mattress.”

“This isn’t an Airbnb, we don’t have fancy air mattresses in this apartment,” joked Miguel. He gulped down his juice, letting it cool his cheeks, which had warmed in embarrassment. Compared to Hawk’s house in Encino, he couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about his own dwellings, even if Hawk had never commented on them.

“You’re not missing anything,” Hawk mumbled, eyeing Miguel’s drink. “Like I said, it sucks sleeping on one.”

From Hawk’s reserved expression, Miguel wondered if he was missing context. The smile had melted off, and he figured it must’ve been due to what neither of them wanted to bring up. The real reason Hawk was having a hard time sleeping. The reason he was having to sleep on top of two thick blankets on the couch.

Miguel knew the responsible thing would be to tell Hawk to get some sleep, and even if the worst happened, it was no big deal. But undoubtedly it must’ve been a big deal to Hawk. If Miguel had been in his place after that night, after the drinking and after the accident, he wouldn’t want to risk another episode around him or his family either.

And he didn’t want to embarrass Hawk by drawing attention to it.

“You wanna watch some TV?” he suggested instead, setting his cup on the table. “We’d have to keep the volume down though.”

Hawk’s smile came back. Putting away his phone, he sat up to make room. “Alright, but you can’t fall asleep.”

Huddling up beside him, pulling the top blanket over his legs, Miguel grabbed the remote and grinned. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep much anyway.”


	9. Preen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preen: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To straighten and position feathers with the beak, the word for birds' grooming.

“Alright, done,” announced Hawk, walking into his bedroom, pulling off stained plastic gloves and tossing them into a nearby trashcan. 

Miguel glanced up from his phone. Hawk had coated the entire middle of his head in red dye. It looked pretty comical pasted down like that, but Hawk liked to keep the color vibrant. “How long do you have to leave that stuff in for?”

“About an hour,” Hawk answered, sitting beside him on the bed. His eyes darted up to Miguel’s hair and the corner of his mouth curled. “In the meantime, we should do something with _your_ hair.”

Miguel gave him a look. “I’m not letting you bleach it.”

Hawk pinched his brows together and scoffed. “And let you steal my style? Stingray already does enough of that.”

“Imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery, isn’t it?” jested Miguel, grinning. Then, a touch sheepishly, he ran a hand through his hair and asked, “Does it look bad?” He thought he’d combed it well enough that morning at his apartment, but now he was worried he might still have bad bedhead or something.

“No, not bad, but it lacks that _flash_ ,” answered Hawk. “Don’t forget, there’s gonna be other babes at the rink tonight, not just Tory and Aisha.”

Raising his eyebrows, Miguel asked, “Are you saying I should be looking?”

Hawk shook his head with a breathy laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “Chicks are always gonna be looking at us, man. I just mean we gotta sell that Cobra Kai image. Hook ‘em in, so they come back to the dojo for more. Aisha and Tory are always going on about how we need more chicks on the team. Let’s help ‘em out, huh?”

Thinking over it a minute, Miguel suggested, “I guess I could style it into a pompadour.”

Hawk smirked. “I was hoping you’d say that. Leave it to the Hawk.”

“I know how to style it,” pointed out Miguel.

“I know you do, but your grandma said I’d make a pretty bitchin stylist, right? Can I try?”

“Well, she didn’t say ‘bitchin’,” Miguel clarified, his grin widening; and his insides lightened as he realized Hawk only wanted to do something nice for him. “But okay. Sure.”

He followed Hawk into his bathroom, watching as hands moved around cans of hairspray and Manic Panic containers to fetch the pomade. Then those hands were in his hair, slicking back the sides. Miguel became so lost to that sensation, he didn’t notice Hawk offering him the blowdryer to hold until he all but grabbed his hand and wrapped his fingers around it.

Both of them laughed.

With Miguel controlling the heat, and Hawk wielding the round brush, his hair got pushed upward and forward, section by section, aiming for extra volume at the front. Another bit of pomade worked through the top and another blast from the blowdryer gave it some classic shine.

“There,” said Hawk, stepping back. “What do you think?”

Miguel looked at his reflection. Perfect.


	10. Nailed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nailed: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The painful meeting of raptor talons and falconers’ flesh.

“Have you cooled off yet?”

Miguel beat Hawk to his car after the school bell, waiting for him with that question. Hawk ignored it, unlocking the Sentra to throw his bag in the back and get into the driver’s seat. He didn’t raise an objection when Miguel climbed into the passenger’s side.

“So it’s gonna be the silent treatment, great,” muttered Miguel. “What, are you pissed at me, too?”

Hawk fidgeted with the keys in his hand. “ _You’re_ the one who’s aggro right now,” he countered. 

“Because you’re being a dick.”

Miguel didn’t understand. Things seemed to be going well between Hawk and Demetri the previous couple weeks, after their talk helped smooth things over. Then it got heated at the lunch table that afternoon. 

Demetri had been talking about how he and Mr. LaRusso geeked out together over _Game of Thrones_ , and suddenly Hawk stormed off. Miguel stayed, listening to Demetri as he admitted he’d just wanted to express how much Miyagi-Do was helping him feel good about himself, thanks to Mr. LaRusso’s approach.

And Hawk apparently didn’t like that.

“What’s your issue?” Miguel kept grilling. “Demetri wasn’t dissing Cobra Kai, so why are you acting like such a jackass? Isn’t your therapy supposed to be _helping_ with that?” 

Hawk’s features hardened, and Miguel regretted his poison in that last strike; because it was mean-spirited, it wasn’t relevant to the current situation, and he knew the therapy _was_ helping. Sometimes his own viciousness caught him by surprise.

“You heard him at lunch,” said Hawk, “going on about how he and Mr. LaRusso were _bonding_ over being giant nerds.” He said it with a sneer on his face, with such contempt in his voice.

“And?” Miguel pressed, not losing his edge yet. “How’s that _your_ problem?”

The hand holding the keys tightened into a fist. Hawk’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and his nostrils flared as he took a couple of deep breaths. Miguel suspected he was trying to control his temper. But then his eyebrows furrowed. He looked more confused and upset than angry.

Hawk gritted his teeth, straining his jaw to force his next words out. “It’s…It’s _not fair_.”

“What’s not fair?”

“ _I’m_ the one who came back to Cobra Kai. I wasn’t a quitter. So why does _he_ get to be ha….?” Hawk cut himself off, striking his knee with his free hand to release his pent up frustrations in a way he couldn’t with his words, or was too ashamed to.

Miguel gathered his thoughts for the next few quiet minutes. He guessed he shouldn’t have expected all this would go away so soon. “You gotta stop taking this out on Demetri,” he said. “I mean it. You and I both know this isn’t really about him.”

Hawk looked out the window, but mumbled, “Yeah.”

“Okay. And sorry about the therapy dig.” Moving past his initial visceral emotions towards a more pragmatic solution, Miguel asked, “You wanna go see if Sensei’s around?”

Hawk nodded.


	11. Blood Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood Feather: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A feather in the process of being grown.

Miguel huffed between harsh breaths, striking the practice dummy over and over with his fists. With a strong yell, he almost toppled the thing when he then delivered a solid kick, before calling it quits.

“Feels great, doesn’t it?” asked Hawk, handing Miguel his towel. “Pounding the shit out of something? It gets all that bad shit out of you.”

“If you say so.” That bad shit hadn’t gone anywhere; it was still churning like a simmering cauldron inside him.

Glancing at the dummy, Hawk arched an eyebrow and asked, “So, whose face were you daydreaming about punching in?”

“What makes you think I was?” Miguel retorted, toweling off his own face to wipe the sweat off.

Hawk shot him an incredulous look. “Bruh.”

Thinking over it, wrapping the towel behind his neck, Miguel hesitated before admitting, “Alright, I was thinking about Robby Keene.”

“Keene?” Hawk repeated, his mouth twisting. “Please don’t tell me this has to do with that Instagram post of him and Sam.”

Miguel shook his head. “No, I don’t care about that. It’s just that yesterday I saw him and Sensei together at his apartment. I guess I felt a little, I dunno.…” 

“What, jealous?” asked Hawk, cutting to the truth. “Is this about Robby being his kid?”

The back of Miguel’s neck heated up. He knew he shouldn’t feel that way. Miguel understood that rationally.But when he passed Sensei’s apartment, catching a glimpse through the window at him and Robby enjoying breakfast together, Miguel could only remember how happy they looked. It made him recall that even though Sensei said he was there for him, that he was on his side, they weren’t blood relations. 

It made him feel like a substitute, one Sensei could replace with the real deal at any time.

“It’s stupid, I know,” he mumbled, wishing he was less insecure. 

Hawk’s brows were creased like he was deep in thought. He followed Miguel while he picked up his bag and started heading towards the changing room. “Think about it this way,” he said. “Who’s Sensei dating right now?”

They both knew, but Miguel answered anyway. “My mom. What about it?”

“What if Sensei decided to put a ring on it? Y’know, tie the knot with her? Then he’d be your dad as much as Robby’s. Haven’t you ever thought about that?”

Of course he’d thought about it. The idea had crossed Miguel’s mind dozens of times since his mom said she and Sensei were going out. But Miguel dreaded jinxing things by thinking that far ahead. He didn’t want to set himself up for crushing disappointment. “Yeah.” He wanted to say more, but his anxiety screamed: _Don’t jinx it!_

When his observation failed to lift Miguel’s mood any, Hawk tried thinking of a different approach. Grinning, he wrapped an arm over his shoulders. “Well, if nothing else, at least you’re still hotter than Keene is.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, shaking his head, but a weak smile spread over his face.


	12. Warble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warble: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. An overhead wing stretch.

When the referee refused to make a call on what was an obvious dirty move halfway through the second period, Rosa threw up her hands, declaring, “ _I can’t watch anymore of this bullshit!_ ” She stood up from where she’d squeezed herself between Miguel and Hawk on the couch and said, “ _I’m going to Camila’s apartment, I’ll be back in thirty. I need some weed after that._ ”

Hawk glanced at Miguel for a translation while Rosa walked over to grab her purse. “She’s going to a friend’s apartment for half an hour,” explained Miguel. “She needs to bum a cigarette.”

“I’ve picked up enough Spanish to know she didn’t say ‘ _cigarrillo_ ',” remarked Hawk with a wink.

“ _Behave yourselves while I’m out, Miggy_ ,” ordered Rosa as she stepped outside. “ _I’ll be right back._ ” And before she shut the door, she called out something else in Spanish that had Miguel sinking into the couch and pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. 

“What’d she say?” asked Hawk.

“Nothing,” Miguel lied.

Shrugging it off, Hawk shifted closer, a mischievous grin signaling his intentions. Clapping a hand on Miguel’s knee, he said, “So, half an hour to ourselves huh? You don’t really want to waste it watching the rest of the game, do you?”

Miguel returned his grin with one of his own, giving his answer by tugging Hawk down by his shirt collar into a fervent kiss.

They shared the kiss for as long as they could manage, made greedy by how long they’d been forced to hold it in since arriving at the apartment. When they broke apart, Miguel wrapped his fingers around the nape of Hawk’s neck, so he couldn’t retreat too far. Hawk’s hand still rested on his knee, and part of Miguel wished he’d do something with it, let it start wandering on its own, just a little….

But then he remembered his grandma was only going to be out for thirty minutes. She could barge in that door at any moment. That thought helped cool his rushing blood.

Hawk looked at him with his vivid eyes, almost like he was waiting for Miguel to give the word. But he couldn’t. So Miguel instead took Hawk’s hand from his knee and entwined their fingers for now. He kissed him again, less urgent this time, feeling how warm Hawk’s neck was against his palm.

When they parted again, Miguel smiled. “Admit it, though,” he said, running his fingertips along the edge of Hawk’s buzzed hairline. “You’re actually starting to like soccer, aren’t you? Wanna try baseball next?”

Miguel recognized that particular smirk on Hawk’s face, the one he wore to mask the intensity of his feelings. Still shy Eli. “Soccer’s alright,” he replied. Which meant he really was enjoying it, judging by the kiss he gave.

“Maybe next game we should watch in English, then,” suggested Miguel after another breath.

Unlocking their fingers, Hawk ran his hand up Miguel’s arm. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I’m kinda digging the Spanish version.”


	13. Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Train: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The tail of a hawk.

“Alright, one more round?” suggested Hawk after catching his breath.

Tossing his water bottle aside, Miguel rolled the soreness from his shoulders. “Your choice. Aren’t you tired of me wiping the floor with you yet?” Considering how long they’d been practicing, he was thoroughly wiped himself. But he wasn’t about to show it.

“Maybe you need to learn how to count again,” Hawk retorted, taking his position. “You’re only one point ahead.”

“That’s all that would matter at a real tournament, buddy,” taunted Miguel. That got Hawk heated again. And Miguel would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he enjoyed the fact that the only possible outcomes of a final match would be either a tie or a deeper loss for Hawk; either way, _he_ wasn’t losing. So he kept egging on his opponent. “I could always throw this last round for you. Y’know, to spare your feelings.”

Hawk narrowed his eyes, even as a hard smile crept up the sides of his mouth. “I’d kick your ass if you did.”

“Good,” chuckled Miguel.

Both of them bowed and got into fighting formation, fists clenched and sweat dripping off creased brows. Miguel gave the call, and Hawk attacked. He delivered a straight kick, which Miguel pivoted to avoid before rolling a round kick of his own. Hawk ducked back, letting it miss him.

Not wanting to give Hawk the chance to resume his offense, Miguel jabbed at him with punch after punch, but Hawk safeguarded his chest and blocked them all from making contact. Their moves were slower than usual, sloppier, both of them knowing they should finally call it a day already. Yet they kept fighting. Move after move, attack after attack, block after block.

Until Hawk aimed one more kick. Miguel caught his foot in his hands and turned sharply around, tripping Hawk off his shaky balance. Miguel let him fall to the floor, knowing the match was over now. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, grinning between his panting breaths while listening to Hawk mutter a few expletives as he lied there, defenseless.

Standing over his opponent, Miguel crossed his arms. “I think we’re about done here, don’t you?”

From the floor, Hawk pushed himself up on his elbows. “Showing mercy, huh? Or are you just too beat to finish the fight?”

Before he could respond, Hawk shot a foot between Miguel’s legs, wrapping it around his right calf and twisting it out from under him, sending Miguel toppling to the mats on his back. “Oh shit,” Miguel groaned, curling into himself, too sore to try and stand up. He instead lied beside Hawk, a stern look contorting his exhausted face. “That was a dirty move.”

A tired laugh broke from Hawk. “Just ‘cause you didn’t see it coming doesn’t make it a cheap shot. I told you I’d kick your ass if you tried throwing the fight,” he said, reaching out to weakly tap his knuckles against Miguel’s chest. “Point.”


	14. Tidbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tidbit: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A small piece of meat to feed the bird.

English Lit books laid open-faced on the kitchen table while they hunched over their notebooks. Hawk was struggling with the homework assignment, dissecting pieces of poetry. It was all obtuse bullshit to him. Why did authors spend so much time writing flowery nonsense steeped in dense metaphors?

Miguel had a much easier time at it, hence why he’d volunteered to help. He leaned over and glanced at what Hawk was scribbling in his notebook. “You can’t say ‘the guy’s talking about getting laid’.”

“Why not?” asked Hawk. “It’s true, right?”

“Well yeah, probably, but you can’t just say that. You gotta dig deeper.” Miguel paused to take a bite of the dessert from the plate beside him. Mrs. Moskowitz had given him a heaping slice of leftover honey cake from Rosh Hashanah before she and Mr. Moskowitz left to run errands. 

Hawk suggested, “Maybe we should’ve invited Aisha or Tory over. Chicks get poetry.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure English is Aisha’s least favorite class,” Miguel pointed out. “And I’m willing to bet poetry’s a little too, er, desperate for Tory’s tastes.” He cringed on the inside, remembering how Tory had decimated his video project. “I think Mitch might like it, though. Have you read some of his Instagram posts?”

Hawk made a face. “He’s never gonna score with the babes that way. Girls talk about how they want all that romantic shit, but what they _really_ want is a guy who’s confident.” 

“A guy with that _alpha_ attitude?” joked Miguel, eating another bite of cake.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Hawk. “I’m thinking the Hawk needs to take Mitch under his wing for a while, show him how it’s done.”

“Or maybe the Hawk needs to focus on finishing his Lit work,” Miguel suggested instead. “Mitch’ll be fine, he’s Cobra Kai. Besides, girls like a sensitive touch in a guy.”

Hawk’s expression really contorted now. “Pfft, no they don’t. Think about it, man. Did Sam give you a second look before you kicked Kyler’s ass?”

Miguel set his fork down. “C’mon, focus on the assignment,” he said, not wanting to dig up old history. “Dude, this one’s easy. The guy’s comparing kisses to honey, what do you _think_ he’s talking about?” He watched Hawk squirm in his seat and look down at the page. A few quiet minutes passed while he read over the poem again and again. Miguel raised an eyebrow. “What do _you_ think?”

Hawk lifted his head, mouth parted and brows furrowed.

Did Hawk like a sensitive touch in a guy? That’s what Miguel wanted to ask. But he already knew the answer. A guy didn’t get his girlfriend’s name tattooed over his heart if he didn’t have a sensitive side. Hawk understood metaphors better than he gave himself credit for.

“Let me show you,” murmured Miguel, leaning forward and kissing him, letting Hawk pick up the sweetness from the dessert still lingering on his lips, so he would understand what both he and the poet were trying to say.


	15. Feak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feak: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The action of rubbing the beak against a surface to clean it; a sign of a content bird.

Miguel showed up to science class that Monday morning with dark hair on his upper lip and chin. He tried not to make a big show of it when he sat down next to Hawk, but he knew it grabbed the other boy’s attention, judging by the excited grin spreading across his face. He expected some sort of reaction. When he last saw Hawk on Thursday, his face was as decidedly clean-shaven as it always was.

“Oh shit, you’re finally growing it out?” asked Hawk.

“Just for a little while,” explained Miguel, rubbing his thumb across his mustache. It still felt weird. “Giving it a bit of a test run before deciding if I’m gonna do Movember in a couple months. If I do, I was going to bring it up to Sensei that maybe we could get the whole dojo to do it. Well, maybe not Aisha and Tory. I mean, unless they wanted to, I guess. Can girls do No-Shave November?”

“I dunno, but hey, if we do, I finally got some hairs growing on my chin. Check ‘em out.” Hawk jutted his chin to show them off. He sounded so proud. “You see them, right?”

Miguel squinted his eyes, scanning for any clue for the whereabouts of the elusive hairs. “Uh, yeah,” he fibbed. “Totally.”

“Yeah, since my dad can grow a pretty epic beard, I figure it’s only a matter of time before mine starts coming in,” said Hawk, stroking his chin, trying to feel for the signs of growth. “So you better start deciding now whether you like your guy with facial hair or not. I was thinking about growing it right along the jawline. Pretty badass, don’t you think?”

Miguel snorted, pulling his notebook and pen out of his backpack. “Yeah, definitely,” he joked, knowing full well it might be a while before Hawk got to even think about pulling off that look. “And I think it goes by your mom’s side of the family, by the way, not your dad’s. At least that’s what my grandma told me.”

“Oh.” Hawk rubbed his jaw for another moment, trying to recall whether he’d ever seen a picture of his maternal grandfather with a beard. Would he be stuck with a babyface for much longer? Could he grow a mustache like Miguel's, or did the surgery from his cleft lip ruin that chance forever?

Forcing that insecurity out of his head, Hawk shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward in his chair. “I should probably start shaving my face anyways, just to be sure. Only kids and chicks got peach fuzz, right?”

“Might help you actually pull off looking twenty-five, like it says on your ID, Walter,” joshed Miguel, elbowing him.

“Has it failed us yet?” retorted Hawk with a smug smile. 

“Well, there was the time at the Applebee’s after the All-Valley Tournament,” Miguel pointed out. “Oh, and at B-Dubs when you tried getting Aisha that birthday margarita.”

Hawk shoved his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Point taken.” 


	16. Banding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banding: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The process of putting metal bands around the legs of birds for the purpose of identification.

By October, Miguel had gotten comfortable with the nuances that came from being in a relationship with another guy. They had fallen into an easy groove when it came to who paid for what for the other person and when, or when to go dutch instead. Dates were usually no more complicated than picking up the phone and asking about going to the mall, and more often were as easy as simply hanging out at each other’s houses.

Then the school put up fliers about the annual Halloween dance scheduled for the end of the month.

If he was with a girl at the time, Miguel wouldn’t have over-thought it so much. He would have been expected to be the one to ask his girlfriend to go. Or was he genderizing with that assumption? Things weren’t any different just because they were both guys, right? But then there was the question, who was supposed to invite whom to the dance? Or maybe it should’ve been a given they were going together?

Active or passive? Miguel wasn’t sure what to be in that exact scenario. His Cobra instincts told him to strike first, of course, but shouldn’t Hawk have done the same thing?

At first, he gave it some time, waiting to see if Hawk would bring it up. But that made him self-conscious and restless. He didn’t like waiting by and doing nothing. Besides, Hawk liked it when he was direct about what he wanted.

So the next day he broached the subject before Chemistry started. “Hey, did you see the fliers about the Halloween dance?” he asked.

“Yeah,” answered Hawk. Miguel eyed the way he was fidgeting with his pen. “At least it shouldn’t be a shit show like it was last year, right?” 

“God, I hope not.” Miguel wondered if he meant how the two of them and Demetri hadn’t had the balls to go and ask any girls to dance, or if he was alluding to Kyler and his crew beating the shit out of him in the locker room. Either way, Miguel didn’t want to remember that disaster of a night. 

Instead, he blurted out, “You up for going together this time?” 

Hawk smiled, and Miguel watched it transform from a soft one into the joshing smirk as he was want to wear.

“Sure. I might be able to schedule you in,” he joked, elbowing Miguel in the side. “Technically we were there together last year, too, you know.”

“You actually going to dance this time, though?” asked Miguel, ribbing him back. He wasn’t interested in spending the whole night hanging around the punch bowl again.

Tapping his pen against his notebook, Hawk raised an eyebrow and quipped, “Maybe.”

Choosing to take that as a yes, Miguel turned the conversation down a different road. “So, what are you gonna go as this year?”

Hawk shrugged. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

Miguel’s mouth curled into a little grin, and he suggested, “How about something without a mask?”


	17. Manning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Manning: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The act or process of spending time with a raptor and handling it in such a way as to accustom it to the presence of a human, and/or being handled.

Miguel was a romantic. Full-on cheesy, schmaltzy, bordering on cringe-inducing romantic. Hawk knew that. He himself was, of course, none of those things.

After all, it was when Miguel tried too hard that things got corny; although sometimes corny could still be fun, Hawk had come to realize, but he would never admit it.

But when things were allowed to progress naturally, when being in each other’s company meant talking about school or shows or karate somehow evolved into an arm wrapping around someone’s shoulder, that was when things got real. That was when Hawk lowered his defenses, when he allowed his mask to slip.

It wasn’t like it was totally a conscious decision. It just happened in the moment.

It was in the rare moments when he let his hair down so Miguel could freely rake his fingers through it. It was when Miguel tugged off his shirt so he could run his hands up the raptor inked on his back unfettered. It was how Miguel pulled him closer, how their breaths quickened, and how they were playfully rolling on top of each other to see who could best whom.

Then he would do something that would bring down that last vestige of pretense, the thin wall would crumble and Miguel would start whispering at his ear, “Eli….”

The knee-jerk reaction would come, the reflex at hearing his name would contract a primal response inside of him, like a chill slithering up his spine. Names had power. People could use your name to hurt you. Hawk was strong enough to take it, but Eli wasn’t. 

He would have to remind himself that he’d given Miguel permission to say it during moments like these, and _only_ moments like these. He suspected Miguel didn’t understand why he had to be so weird about it. But that was okay because the why’s didn’t matter then.

All that mattered was the breath Miguel took between each kiss and the way he earnestly encouraged him with each exhale. “Eli…Eli…Eli….”

It was at that time that he became starved to hear his name. Only then could he admit how desperate he was to hear it from someone who didn’t use it to disrespect him, to talk down to him, to demoralize or berate him. Miguel would never use his name to hurt him. He never once had. It could make him believe, for a short while, that he was strong even without the Hawk mask.

And when the moment was over, when the last kiss parted and they both leaned back and laughed a bit, Eli would take the few remaining seconds of elation to enjoy the fact that Miguel was smiling because of him.

Then the defenses started rebuilding. A sincere smile molted into a joshing grin, and he would make some sort of bragging remark or immature innuendo to bring things back down to Earth, to make him forget how warm his face was.

Because, of course, Hawk wasn’t a romantic.


	18. Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kite: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To train a raptor by fastening food to a kite and letting it soar in the sky. The raptor dives for the food.

“That’s eighteen to seventeen,” announced Aisha from the sidelines, catching the basketball Tory had bounced to her. “One more basket and Team Shirts wins.”

“Looks like we’re getting free pizza today,” said Tory, accepting Mitch’s fist-bump on her way back to the center of the asphalt court in the park.

Shaking his head while he wiped sweat from it, Miguel turned to Hawk and told him, “Dude, how many times do I gotta tell you, block Mitch. Can’t you see he’s got the hot hand? Where’s the defense?”

Hawk frowned. It wasn’t like he had any practice with basketball outside of Gym. And how was he supposed to know Mitch would be so good at it? But he didn’t want to lose any more than Miguel did. “How about you keep Tory from stealing the ball for once?” he retorted defensively.

Miguel rolled his eyes. “Whatever, just stop him from going into the paint.”

Accepting the ball from Aisha, Hawk bounced it a couple times while Miguel darted from Tory. Seeing his teammate’s opening, Hawk tossed him the ball, avoiding Mitch’s attempts to intercept it.

Tory was all over Miguel again, her arms wide as she tried blocking him from advancing past the half-court. His efforts to get around her were for naught. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Hawk near the basket, and his first instinct was to pass him the ball. Then Miguel thought, if he could score a three-pointer, they would win.

So he took his shot where he stood.

And he missed. 

Immediately, Mitch stole the ball and took off to the other end of the court. Hawk raced after him, dodging Tory’s bid to guard him.

Mitch ran and dribbled, and when Hawk saw him about to step into the paint he shoved him with his shoulder, making the other boy trip and fall to the ground, dropping the ball. “What the hell, man?” exclaimed Mitch, jumping back to his feet. “That was a check!”

“What’s the matter, can’t take a little full-contact?” goaded Hawk.

“Come on, this isn’t karate, it’s basketball,” Mitch countered.

Picking up the ball, Aisha said, “Mitch is right. Team Shirts gets two penalty shots.”

Miguel groaned and threw his hands up in exasperation, knowing what was coming next. 

And he was right. Mitch shot and scored both his baskets, winning the victory for his team. He and Tory gave each other a high-five, congratulating themselves. 

Hawk walked to where Miguel stood. He had a hard look of disappointment plastered over his sweaty face. “What?” asked Hawk. “Don’t give me that look. You said to block him.”

“You’re not on my team next time,” stated Miguel.

“What about you not passing me the ball?” argued Hawk. “Real good teamwork there.”

“Hey, you two!” called out Tory, a sharp smile on her face as she, Mitch, and Aisha collected their things. “C’mon, time to cough up the dough for the dough. And it better be a big one, we’re famished.”


	19. Sails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sails: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A hawk's wings.

“You up for driving?”

Miguel had a second to process the question before he snatched the keys Hawk tossed at him from the air. “Uh, sure,” he answered, throwing his gym bag in the back before getting into the driver’s seat. “Can I ask the reason?”

“Because I’m tired of always being your chauffeur,” joked Hawk, hooking his seatbelt. His grin then faltered for a moment. “I mean, just make sure you don’t crash it or anything, okay?”

Miguel recognized the underlying panic of parental retribution in that tone. “Pretty sure I can avoid doing that,” he chuckled. “I practiced a lot with Mom’s car when I got my license. So, to the mall then? Nothing like a little winding down at the food court after practice, amirite?”

Leaning in his seat, Hawk rolled his shoulders. “Actually, I was thinking we could cruise the coast for a bit, see what we find. Y’know, go where the wind takes us. Surprise me.” His eyes flitted to Miguel’s face. “If you’re down for that.”

“Sure, man, if you got gas money for cruising,” jested Miguel, turning on the engine. But there was energy in his voice. His hands gripped the steering wheel, and the idea of driving down a long stretch of road without purpose got his blood pumping. It almost felt rebellious and reminded him of the story Sensei Lawrence told him about how often he and the original Cobras went motorbiking for the sheer sake of the joyride.

He thought about the thrill of racing down the open highway, windows down, wind blowing through their hair - well, maybe only _his_ hair - while chasing the sun down the coastal line. He imagined finding someplace with jaw-dropping imagery to park, where the sea salt would catch on their skin, and they might taste it in a kiss….

Hawk’s voice cut through his reverie. “Speaking of gas, you mind not wasting it?”

“Sorry,” said Miguel, adjusting the rearview mirror. Keeping his daydream to himself in hopes it might manifest into reality - Hawk did say to surprise him, after all - he instead asked, “Hey, did I tell you Sensei let me drive _his_ car last weekend?”

Hawk’s eyebrows raised on his forehead. “Get outta here, really?”

Miguel nodded, putting the vehicle in drive. “He said every guy should get behind the wheel of a sports car once in his life.”

“I bet the Cobramobile’s got some sweet horsepower, huh?” asked Hawk.

“Oh yeah. Now _that’s_ how you go cruising, according to Sensei,” laughed Miguel. Once he got to the end of the strip mall parking lot, holding his foot on the break, he swiftly reached into the back to grab his bag. When he turned around, he slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Sensei also said when you go riding, you gotta do it in style.”

Hawk’s grin widened. “Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” Opening his glove compartment, he pulled out his own pair of shades while Miguel drove out onto the road.


	20. Phase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A more formal term for morph, one of the distinct color forms of a specific species.

“You told me you’d dance.”

“And I _have_ been.”

“I meant for real,” argued Miguel, fighting the urge to run a hand down his frustrated face, knowing he’d ruin his face paint if he did. His eyes remained glued to Hawk. He looked uncomfortable, the way his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his costume like that. “This is the second slow dance you’ve flaked on tonight.”

Hawk clenched his hands to stop the stimming and forced an unconvincing smirk up the corner of his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re really into that mushy shit,” he said.

Miguel’s own mouth tightened at that deflection. “And don’t tell me _you’re_ afraid of a little PDA,” he retorted. Sometimes Hawk’s masking got on his nerves, and during those times, such as now, Miguel wished he’d stop joking and be more sincere. He understood being a little more reserved in public, but why couldn’t Hawk show some of that side of himself he did whenever they were in private? “You, of all people?”

The harsh smile on Hawk’s face dissolved, and Miguel knew he’d cut through his bullshit, right to the heart of the matter. What made him so worried?

“I mean, are you embarrassed about us being…. If so, it’s not like we’re the only…y’know, the only ones.” Miguel’s vision swept the gym, past where Aisha and Tory were scoping prospective guys, over to where Moon and her girlfriend Piper were slow-dancing, grinning affectionately at each other.

Hawk’s eyes followed his, and his features pinched at seeing his ex. “It doesn’t have anything to do with that,” he argued, turning back around.

“Then what _is_ it about?” drilled Miguel.

Hawk frowned. “Just forget it.”

“Or, here’s an idea,” Miguel said, “how about I _don’t_ forget it, and you tell me what the deal is?” He was upset. Why shouldn’t he be?

Especially when the song playing at the DJ’s station ended and followed up with another easy tune meant to encourage couples to get closer - though not _too_ close, Counselor Blatt was there to make space where she felt needed - and Hawk still didn’t have anything to say. 

It made Miguel’s face heat up so much he thought it might make his face paint run. Hot not in anger, but embarrassment. It made him wish he’d stayed home. It made him wonder if Hawk would ever get to the point where he’d be comfortable dropping the act in public, for his sake; for both their sakes.

Miguel was about ready to give up.

Then Hawk took his hand. He held it for a few seconds. 

He muttered, “I-I don’t know how…to slow dance….”

Miguel’s cheeks cooled. “Oh, is that all?” He shook his head, but a small smile broke loose. He took Hawk’s other hand in his own and tugged him closer. “Well, you’re a fast learner, aren’t you?” 

That got Hawk to relax. 

But before Miguel took the lead, he pointed out, “You could’ve told me before tonight, y’know?”


	21. Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossing: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. The flight of another bird between a hawk and its quarry, possibly causing it to check.

He hadn’t intended on being nosey. The bottle cap from his drink fell to the floor and rolled under the bed, and that was where Miguel noticed the boxes when he reached underneath to retrieve it. That was where he happened to peek into one.

And that was how Hawk found him when he came out of the bathroom. “What are you doing down there?” he asked.

Miguel almost hit his head on the frame as he crawled out. He held up the cap. “Just getting this,” he said, sitting on the bed again. Taking a sip of his Coke, he asked innocuously, “Hey, I thought you said you got rid of all your comic books.”

He watched Hawk’s mouth press in a thin line, and Miguel knew then that he’d stepped in it. “What makes you think you can just go through my stuff?” Hawk demanded.

“Chill,” said Miguel, capping his drink, “I didn’t go through anything, I only caught a glimpse. The box wasn’t even closed.”

Hawk’s nostrils flared, but he knew what Miguel said was true. “I was gonna toss them, but I was waiting for my parents to have a garage sale, so I could get some money off them.”

Miguel didn’t believe him. “Well, if you don’t want them anymore, can I take some off your hands?”

Hawk’s face got hard to read, but there was clearly a journey going on there. The corners of his mouth twitched, and he muttered, “Uh, sure, whatever.”

Eyeing how Hawk’s hands were fidgeting, Miguel arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Better a nerd like you has them, right?” Hawk tried joking, but his voice cracked as he said it. It sounded like his mouth had gone dry.

Miguel pointed out, “You don’t sound like you mean it.”

“It’s stupid little kid shit, man,” retorted Hawk. “Only cringey dweebs care about that stuff.”

“Oh, so now I’m a nerd _and_ a dweeb?” challenged Miguel. He knew Hawk well enough by now to spot projecting when he encountered it. He wished Hawk would stop being so hard on himself and enjoy the things that obviously made him happy once. Miguel understood Sensei had opinions about geeks, but Hawk needed to stop taking everything so literally.

Hawk frowned and looked away. “Just go ahead and take them if you want them.”

Rolling his eyes, Miguel sighed but got off the bed to reach under it again, lugging out the big box of comics. His fingers flipped through the issues in their protective sleeves, eyes scanning the variety of titles. It was an impressive collection.

His eyes lit up when he spotted a special edition of _Deadpool_ , and he pulled it out to claim.

“Not that one.”

Miguel looked at Hawk as he sat on the floor beside him; his face was pinched in uncertainty. Miguel smiled and handed the issue to its original owner, assuring him, “Don’t think about it so hard.”

Hawk paused for a second, then accepted his comic back. 


	22. Frounce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frounce: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A disease of the mouth and throat caused by a protozoan parasite.

Miguel leaned over, suffering through another rough coughing fit that seemed to rack his lungs until he felt like he might gag. He groaned when the spell ceased, then reached beside him at his nightstand to grab a tissue, blowing his nose like a horn to clear the passageway. It was like someone had taken a jackhammer to his sinuses, the pressure there throbbed so bad.

“Man, you sound brutal.”

He glanced at his doorway to see Hawk standing there, a nonchalant grin on his face. “I told you, I’m sick,” said Miguel, tossing his gross tissue in the trash bin beside his bed. He’d texted Hawk that morning while his mom called the school to report his absence. “You really shouldn’t even be here.”

Hawk rolled his eyes and stepped into the room, although he maintained a bit of a distance. “Like I’ve never had a cold before.”

“How was practice?” inquired Miguel, propping his pillows up again. He was upset he’d had to miss it. He couldn’t even remember the last time he missed karate practice.

Hawk’s features sharpened, and he swelled. “Sparring today. I got the most wins. Mitch, Stingray, Dieter, Red, Edwin, they all got to face the fury of the Hawk. Got them eating mat. I mean, not to brag or anything.”

“Hey, why stop now?” Miguel joked playfully. 

“I gotta say, it feels pretty good being top dog,” said Hawk, his crooked smile widening. “With you out of commission, I get to be the champ.”

A sharp laugh broke from Miguel, which morphed into a quick cough-fest. “Don’t get used to it,” he said after it subsided. “I’ll be back and kicking your ass before you know it.”

Another coughing spelled forced him to stop talking again. Hawk raised an eyebrow. “Might want to kick this cold’s ass first,” he remarked. “Haven’t you taken anything for it?”

“Ya-Ya’s given me so much Robitussin, I think I got permanent fake grape taste on my tongue,” said Miguel, blowing his nose again.

“Have her make you some of this,” said Hawk. He slipped off his backpack and reached inside it to grab a small box, which he tossed on Miguel’s lap. 

Miguel picked it up to see what it was: a box of Manischewitz’s matzo ball and soup mix. The corners of his mouth curled. “Did you really come all this way to bring me soup?” 

Zipping up his backpack, Hawk rolled his shoulders and said, “That shit’s like penicillin, it’ll get you back up.” 

Part of Miguel wanted to continue teasing him for how schmaltzy of a gesture this was, especially coming from him. After all, how many times had Hawk taken the piss out of him for similar gestures? But, looking at the box again, he decided to take it for what it was and just smiled back. “Thanks.”

Hawk shot him one more look. “But get better fast. It’s not worth being the best if I didn’t beat you myself to get there.”


	23. Tiring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiring: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A piece of meat used to keep a raptor busy without giving too much in food value.

The light coming through the blinds was purple and grey. It would be dark before long. Miguel had lost track of time of how long he and Hawk had simply lied there relaxing on his bed after the last kiss had broke and their enthusiasm had been satiated.

At some point, Hawk had turned over. Miguel simply watched the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, deep in his own thoughts. After a while, he wondered if Hawk had fallen asleep. If so, he didn’t necessarily _want_ to disturb him, but, well….

Propping himself up on an elbow, resting his cheek in his open palm, Miguel stared at the hawk tattooed on his back. He was tempted to trace the outline of the raptor with his fingers, but remembered what Hawk had said about light touches. So Miguel raked them through his loose red hair instead. He didn’t get to do it often, and he enjoyed it when he could.

That got Hawk to look over his shoulder and then roll over. He looked a little shy. Miguel wondered why.

Closing his eyes, Miguel kissed him slowly, more gently than he had earlier, letting him know there was no reason to be diffident. When he reopened his eyes, he smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Hawk returned. He sounded fatigued.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” suggested Miguel.

Hawk ran his hand lazily up his arm and over his shoulder. “I’m pretty tired,” he admitted. He let that statement, as well as his hand, linger for a lengthy moment, and Miguel wondered if he was waiting for him to make a suggestion. 

There was an unspoken question, maybe the one that was bringing the shyness out of Eli. Miguel could guess what it was, and he imagined them taking advantage of just how comfortable they were right now. He could curl right up close to Eli, wrap his arms around him, close his eyes, and the two of them could fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing.

He wanted to speak that suggestion out loud. It sounded so nice.

But, well….

Miguel felt his ears flush. He knew he couldn’t let Eli fall asleep in his bed. Much less when he was sharing it with him.

And, catching his eyes for a second, he knew Eli knew that, too.

The shyness melted off Hawk’s face at the lingering quiet, hardening into a guarded expression. Miguel was sorry to see it happen, but what could he say?

“I should probably go home,” Hawk mumbled, running his hands once through his hair and getting off the bed; he didn’t sound angry, merely resolved. Miguel sat up and watched him scoop up his shirt and hoodie from the floor and put them back on. When Hawk finished and grabbed his keys from the desk where he’d set them, he looked over at Miguel and casually asked, “See you at practice tomorrow?”

Rubbing the back of his heated neck, Miguel nodded. “Yeah.”


	24. Winnowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winnowing: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A raptor's stretching and flapping of the wings for the purpose of exercising them.

“Alright, I’m done,” declared Miguel, walking around the other guys to drop his dumbbells beside the weights Sensei Lawrence had provided in the back room of the dojo.

Hawk shook his head as he sat on the bench press. “Weak.” He caught the look Miguel shot at him after wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Well, if you need a breather, how about you spot me?” asked Hawk, lying on his back. 

After a quick sip of water from his bottle, Miguel joined him and assisted in lifting off the barbell. “Why’ve you been going so hard this week?” he asked, keeping his hands near the bar while Hawk lifted it.

“I told you,” said Hawk, pushing the weight up with a strained breath, “we gotta kick up our routine if we’re gonna get swol by senior year.”

Knowing full well their senior year was quite a while away, Miguel’s face squinted, like he didn’t believe that was the whole truth. His voice was low when he asked, “Is this about Aisha calling you a ‘skinny ass' the other day?”

Lifting the barbell up and down again, Hawk let out a forced laugh, trying not to focus on the sweat that stung his eyes as is dripped down his flushed face. “Nah, why would I care about that?”

“Yeah, she didn’t mean anything by it, everyone was just joking around,” assured Miguel.

Hawk knew that. It was all in good fun. Besides, it didn’t matter that the other guys overheard and laughed at her joke, too, right? Because all of them knew he could wipe the floor with any of them. They still knew he wasn’t someone to mess with. And if they needed a reminder of that truth, he’d be happy to provide it.

Hawk could feel something mean swell inside him at that malicious thought, and tried burying it as he continued lifting.

He knew he was, by all accounts, physically fit. Himself from a year ago would never have believed he was capable of it. But he was still smaller than he wanted to be. And he remembered how it felt to be sized up by the other boys and found lacking. Nobody wanted to be the skinnier - the weaker - guy.

He didn’t want to look in the mirror and be face to face again with the old wimpy beta male he used to be.

The bar weighed down heavily on his chest and when Hawk tried to lift it up this time, his arms shook from the strain. He’d worked them too hard that week, and his muscles burned as he pushed them past it to try and lift the barbell. 

But he couldn’t, and the only thing that stopped the weight from dropping back on him was Miguel grabbing the bar, helping him lift it back on the rack. 

Sitting up on the bench, Hawk accepted a hand towel from Miguel.

“How about let’s call it a day?” Miguel suggested, patting him on his shoulder.


	25. Cadger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cadger: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. A person who carries a hawk.

Miguel had been down in the dumps. It looked like melancholy had passed over his face like a grim cloud. It hadn’t taken much for Hawk to notice, but what he couldn’t do was locate the source of his depressed mood. Maybe something to do with Sensei. Maybe Keene. Maybe something else altogether. 

He waited for Miguel to bring it up, but between school, practice, and nighttime texts, he never dropped what the deal was. 

And that put Hawk in a conundrum. Miguel was a talker. He was a doer. But if Miguel wouldn’t talk, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to do something, though. He hated seeing Miguel so mopey.

So that evening Hawk suggested they go for a long jog along the trail around Miguel’s neighborhood, to run it off. They ended up in the park near the observatory before taking a rest on one of the benches. There they just talked for a while. Not about whatever it was that was dragging him down, because he still didn’t broach it. 

Instead, they engaged in safer subjects. About the karate competition Sensei was trying to register Cobra Kai in, Monday’s History test, and the holidays approaching next month. All the while, Hawk kept expecting Miguel to drop a hint about his problem. Maybe he was having doubts about the competition. Maybe he flunked the test. Maybe something about this Christmas was going to suck for him. 

The conversation petered out and things got quiet between them, Miguel having never specified. And Hawk didn’t ask.

It had gotten dark, and the wind was chilly. They sat beside each other, the breeze gusting light against them. When the lull lengthened, Hawk caught the expression on Miguel’s face when he turned his head to look at him. The previous sullenness had morphed. He now looked like someone desperate for some affection. Less talk, now. More doing. Maybe that’s what Miguel had wanted from him all evening.

Hawk leaned over and Miguel met him for a modest, closed-mouth kiss. When Hawk pulled back, Miguel parted his lips to invite for something more. He snaked his arm around Miguel’s shoulders. He heard him sigh, felt him deflate, and Miguel leaned into him when he kissed him again.

Miguel drew out the kiss, a soft groan humming from low in his throat when Hawk cupped his jaw to pull him in closer, when his thumb stroked along his cheek. They’d had more passionate, demanding contact in the past. This was more comforting, tender even. 

Hawk didn’t know what it was about Miguel that drew this softness out of him. Maybe it was how his hands wrapped around his back before drifting down to rest at his waist. Maybe it was feeling his warm breath by his ear while he nuzzled his neck. Maybe it was because he knew Miguel could be every bit as hard on himself as he was, and he wanted to show him he had no reason to be.


	26. Rake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rake: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To strike quarry without binding to it.

“You should probably let up on the other guys a little,” said Miguel after practice that day. Seeing the inquisitive look Hawk shot him, he explained further, “They’ve been practicing hard for the state championship, and you’ve been dragging them down lately.”

The corners of Hawk’s mouth twitched. “Did they say something to you about it?” he asked, zipping up his gym bag.

Not wanting to snitch and name names, Miguel shrugged his shoulder. “A couple of them, yeah.”

“Well, if they got a problem, they can say it to my face,” declared Hawk. What a bunch of wimps, he thought, complaining about his attitude through Miguel instead of confronting him directly.

He didn’t want to admit there was a small part of himself that was glad he still scared the others, if only a little bit. Because it was easier than carrying himself with the casual confidence that seemed second-nature to Miguel, who didn’t have to fight for his respect; that was probably why the guys felt like they could go to him, instead.

Miguel pinched his eyebrows together. “C’mon, don’t be like that. You gotta admit, they’re getting really good. Remember when Mitch landed that crane kick on Red? Or when Bert—”

Hawk shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You and I both know none of them are gonna make it to the finals.” Hearing Miguel sigh, Hawk narrowed his eyes. “What? You think I’m wrong?”

Miguel tried to say, “It’s not about that—”

“But it _is_ about that,” interrupted Hawk. “You know it. I know it. And _Sensei_ knows it, too.”

At the mention of Sensei Lawrence, an uneasy expression came over Miguel’s face.

“It’s like it was with training for the All-Valley, isn’t it?” asked Hawk. “Sensei thinks only you have a shot at winning.” Miguel expected Hawk to sound angry or bitter with those words, but he didn’t. But he did sound determined.

“He hasn’t said that,” retorted Miguel, cheeks heating at being reminded of the special classes he and Sensei had back in spring, when Sensei had told him he believed he was the only one who had what it took to win. At the time, Miguel had taken his confidence at face-value. He hadn’t thought about how it might’ve looked to the others.

Now, however. It made the extra session he and Sensei had last Sunday feel wrong. Was Sensei still playing favorites?

Sensing how agitated Miguel was getting with how the conversation had turned, Hawk smirked and reached out to clap a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. I’m not blaming you. And, let’s be real, for the other guys Sensei’s probably right. But I don’t plan on getting disqualified this time. So when it comes down to the last match, me and you?”

The look on his face said everything. Not only was Hawk not going to hold back - Miguel didn’t expect he would, nor would he want him to - but he was going to prove something to Sensei, too.


	27. Crabbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crabbing: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. When a hawk seizes another, either by mistake when with another on a quarry or on purpose when quarreling or fighting.

The net swooshed, and Miguel cursed under his breath while the scoreboard ticked another point for Robby. At the rate they were going, his rival was poised to win their little basketball arcade match.

Robby’s cocky grin was bad enough, but watching Sam cheer him on was worse.

“Don’t just stand there!” Miguel heard Hawk’s voice interject from beside him. “You’re running out of time.”

Shaking his head back to reality, Miguel grabbed the basketball in front of him and shot, scoring. Picking up his momentum, he tossed the next three balls: score, miss, score.

He fought the urge to glance at Robby’s tally on the machine beside his. He ignored Mitch yelling pointers behind him, Demetri griping about how one’s coordination skills with a ball didn’t make him the better man, and Chris hoping aloud that nothing escalated between the dojos and cost him his new job at Golf n’ Stuff.

Miss, score, score, miss. Miguel fired one shot after another, not thinking about how they even ended up in this position. All that mattered was beating Robby.

The buzzer went off, ending the game. As both machines regurgitated tickets, Miguel sucked in his breath and looked at the scoreboard. Robby finished with a six-point lead. “Shit,” Miguel groaned, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Win some, lose some, right?” quipped Robby smartly, stuffing his hands in his pockets while Demetri collected his tickets.

Miguel avoided a mean-spirited comeback, and he lost it on his tongue altogether when he and Sam caught each other’s eyes for a second. She looked relieved to see Robby win. Or was it that she just liked watching _him_ lose?

Hawk pulled him from his thoughts again. “You can’t let it end like that.”

Putting his tickets away, Miguel retorted, “What do you want me to do? He won.” Robby always had to come in and take things from him. Sam. Sensei. Now this stupid victory.

“Well, challenge him again,” suggested Hawk.

“And do what?” Miguel demanded. “Keep doing this over and over all night?” Embarrass himself even more?

“Until you win,” corrected Hawk. When Miguel frowned, he emphasized, “C'mon, you’re better at this than Keene, and you know it.”

The scoreboard suggested otherwise. “Just lay off it, man,” muttered Miguel, his shoulders slumping, not in the mood for this.

He watched how Hawk’s nostrils flared, saw his eyes glaring over his shoulder to where Robby and Sam and the rest of Miyagi-Do were heading outside to the mini-golf course. “Then _I’ll_ challenge him,” Hawk declared.

Miguel felt the weight of how offended Hawk was on his behalf. How humiliated he knew he felt to lose in front of his ex. But this wasn’t Hawk’s fight. Miguel wouldn’t let him fight his battles for him.

So, with a small smile, Miguel promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll show him what’s what on the mats later.” Wrapping a hand around Hawk’s shoulder, he suggested, “In the meantime, how about I beat you at some air hockey?”


	28. Telemetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Telemetry: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. Radio tracking device used for locating lost birds.

Mitch and Bert snored loudly in the other bed, dreaming about what the first founds of the tournament in the morning would bring. And it was only when the two had fallen asleep that Hawk took out his alarm from his bag, the one Miguel was looking at while they laid in the dark in their own assigned bed.

“School trips must’ve been fun, huh?” Miguel tried to joke light-heartedly, handing the device back. This was the most they’d talked openly about the subject, though he remained mindful to keep it quiet. If the others so much as stopped snoring, he’d drop it in a second.

Hawk snorted softly, accepting his alarm and clipping it to his pajamas. “I just stuck with Demetri,” he whispered, picking at a fingernail. “He’s the only one who knows. And you.”

“I think the others would probably be more understanding than you think,” suggested Miguel. “I mean, it’s just a medical condition, right? That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Hawk’s mouth twisted uneasily. His eyes drifted over to the bed next to theirs. Mitch had rolled over and Bert was now hanging precariously on the edge of the mattress, but the boys remained sound asleep. “Would you want them to find out if it was _you_?” Hawk retorted, looking back at Miguel.

Miguel sighed and shook his head truthfully. “No.”

He wished he could offer more than empty words of encouragement. But more than sympathizing with how embarrassing it must’ve been to live with such a problem, Miguel was struck by how lonely it must be. Carrying that secret around with you, worrying about others discovering it. Having that barrier between you and someone you wanted to be closer to.

“Anyways, we should probably get some sleep if we want to kick some ass tomorrow,” said Hawk, shifting to sit up on the bed. The motel staff had procured him a cot upon request, which waited for him between the two beds. Humiliating enough to have to ask for one in the first place. Worse still to have to tell the others to mind their business when they asked what it was for.

Miguel picked at his bottom lip, wondering what a lifetime of being regulated to cots, couches, and air mattresses would do to a guy. “Wait.” He reached out, stopping Hawk with a touch of his arm. “Just a little bit longer,” he said, tugging his shirt to coax him back into lying down.

Eli didn’t need more convincing. And a soft expression smoothed over his features when Miguel wrapped his arm around him and curled in closer. He returned the intimate gesture, closing his eyes and burying his face in Miguel’s shoulder. In spite of everything, he felt relaxed and content at that moment.

“Whoever falls asleep first, the other gets the cot,” he heard Miguel murmur by his ear.

“You sure?” Eli whispered back.

The arm around him hugged tighter, silently promising what Miguel was willing to do. “Goodnight, Eli.”


	29. Enseam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enseam: noun  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To bring a hawk out of its moult by nutritional management, weight management, and exercise.

The two of them leaned against the rail guard, looking down at the stadium floor below, where Sam and Aisha were talking. Miguel’s eyes lifted first, watching the way Robby stared at Sam. He expected faint lingering jealousy from a look like that, and was relieved to feel none.

Despite everything going on between the two of them lately, all of the fighting over Sensei, Miguel was finally willing to extend the olive branch. “Sam’s a pretty good fighter, isn’t she?”

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Robby let skeptical silence hang between them, saying nothing.

“Don’t worry,” assured Miguel, knowing what that icy stillness indicated. Robby was assessing his casual statement as a threat of interest. “I didn’t mean it like that. That’s all in the past. Really.”

The stiffness on Robby’s features reluctantly relaxed, and the other boy allowed a smirk to curl around the corner of his mouth. “Sam’s a _great_ fighter.”

“Hope she knows I’m not going easy on her in our match here soon,” said Miguel.

Robby scoffed, but the smile stayed on his face. “You should be worried about her taking it easy on _you_. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

Knowing Robby was right, Miguel smirked. “Better not hope for Hawk to hold back against you, either.”

“As long as he doesn’t fight dirty this time,” snipped Robby, eyes returning to the floor.

Miguel felt the tug of guilt pull at his insides, remembering their behaviors at the All-Valley Tournament. “He won’t.”

* * *

From where he sat on his bench, Hawk watched where Miguel and Robby were standing together. He could only wonder what they were talking about.

“Hey.” Demetri sat down beside him. He had a lingering look of disappointment on his face, masked behind his usual sardonic smile.

Hawk nodded once. “Hey.”

“Nice fight between Sam and Aisha, right?” asked Demetri, leaning forward. “I mean, not in a sleazy girl-on-girl fight kind of way. Strictly in the context of this rivalry we got going on between our dojos. I gotta say, after Aisha knocked me out, it felt pretty good to see Sam get her back. Kinda worried I’m falling into the trappings of tribalism here.”

Hawk tried to hold back a smile. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Aisha beat you because you flinched at the last second. You should’ve countered.”

“Yeah, Mr. LaRusso’s still helping me on my reflexes,” Demetri explained. “But you saw where I beat Bebop, right?”

“Mitch?” clarified Hawk. “You got lucky there. He was sloppy.”

“C’mon, at least let me have my win,” joked Demetri, elbowing him.

The two of them shared a look. It was the easiest they’d been with each other in months. It felt familiar. It felt nice.

Hawk watched Demetri peek up at Robby and Miguel before his gaze fell back on him. “So, are we gonna be cool if I root for Robby in this match between you guys?”

Hawk couldn’t hold back his smile this time. “Yeah. We’re cool.”


	30. Fledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fledge: verb  
> Falconry.  
> 1\. To take flight for the first time.

While he waited, Miguel’s eyes swept over the trophies Sensei Lawrence had on display at the entranceway of the dojo. The ones from Sensei’s time as a student. The ones his class had earned. Miguel brushed his fingers across the nameplate of the latest one, and a smile spread over his face. He wondered how many of these they might have by this time next year.

“Yo, you ready?”

He turned around to see Hawk exit the changing room and head his way towards him. “Been ready, you’re the one who’s lagging,” joked Miguel.

Hawk smirked and looked like he was about to parry back when Sensei Lawrence walked out of his office and said, “You two, hurry up and get out. I got someplace to be.” He gestured to the door, and followed them outside before locking it securely behind them.

Johnny twirled the keys in his hand and said to Miguel, “Hey, let your mom know I got those tickets for tomorrow.”

Miguel nodded. “I will.”

“And tonight, how about you and me grab a burger?” suggested Sensei Lawrence.

Miguel wondered if Sensei was suggesting that because he suspected he might be jealous that Sensei was rushing out now to hang with Robby. But Miguel knew he had no reason to feel envy. Sensei was trying his hardest to be there for both of them. That was fair. He appreciated it. “Sounds great,” he said, excitement in his voice.

“Alright, pick you up at the apartments later.” Johnny glanced behind Miguel, where Hawk stood waiting, hands gripping his backpack straps. The two shared a brief look. Then Johnny asked, “You want to come, too?”

“Me?” Hawk raised his eyebrows. Catching the thumb’s-up Miguel discreetly shot him, he perked a little, the corners of his mouth curling. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Strolling past them into the parking lot, Johnny called out, “I’ll be there at six, don’t be late.”

His students watched him drive off. Miguel then elbowed Hawk. “How about that, huh?”

“Wild,” remarked Hawk, still surprised by the invitation.

As they walked to Hawk’s car, Miguel asked, “So, you wanna just hang at the apartment until then?”

“And do what?” inquired Hawk.

Miguel’s expression got suggestive. “What do you think?”

Hawk’s crooked smile returned. And as soon as they got to his car, he grabbed fistfuls of Miguel’s jacket with his hands to tug him in close. Miguel let out a playful laugh, leaning forward and meeting Hawk for a kiss. “Can’t wait a little longer?” teased Miguel when they broke for a moment, before bringing their lips back together. A quick taste of what might come later when they got to his place soon.

The contact felt warm in the breezy December air, warmer still when the blood rushed under their skins. Hawk pushed Miguel lightly against the side of his car, so that they might be closer together as they drew out kiss after kiss, neither wanting to be the one to call it quits first.


End file.
